


To Fall from the Stars

by LadyHallen



Series: One-Shots of Various Fandoms [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Prompt Fill, Random OC parents, initially posted in tumblr, stretches what I really know of the fandom, wikia is awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5223731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHallen/pseuds/LadyHallen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Prompt was a Glorfindel/Hermione Crossover</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Being reborn as an elf was something disconcerting for Hermione.

Adventures typically happened for Harry, not her. But since it already happened, she rolled with it. It helped that her parents were so obviously grateful to have her and showered her with everything she wanted. If she didn’t have Hermione’s memories, she’d be a really spoiled child.  
  
Her new name, Meluinir, took her a while to respond to. It …didn’t exactly roll off the tongue like Hermione, but it was all she had and she went with it too, though she frowned at her parents’ every time they called her by her full name. They caught on and started calling her Melui.  
  
Sindarin wasn’t exactly hard either, something about her new body made learning the language easy and instinctive, like there was a word lingering at the tip of her tongue.  
  
Her parents called her a precocious child, very wise for her age. Hermione just wished they would stop dragging her away from the library. Because, apparently, she needed sunlight and time to run around. (It was supposed to be a prerequisite for being a child.)  
  
Sword fighting and archery, when she found out about it, was welcome, even if her parents would never approve. They wanted her to be raised as a lady, not a warrior.  
Hermione wanted to sigh in exasperation. They wanted her to run around, but not to learn how to defend herself. The disparity was confusing her.  
  
Still, it wasn’t like it was the first time she’d learned things on the sly. She sneaked lessons from the amused guardsman and tried not to make too many rips on her dress. The maids took pity on her sniffling when she tried to darn them together and poked holes on her delicate fingers (Those were really the times she missed magic.) and gave her some trousers and a spare tunic.  
  
When her secret eventually spilled, as all secrets were won’t to do, she planted her feet on the ground and glared at her father until he caved. To her surprise, he turned to her mother and sighed, “She’s your daughter, Lanthirel.”  
  
Her mother laughed.  
  
(x)  
  
She met him on border patrol.  
  
They lived near the sea and were the last settlement of elves that their people usually saw before leaving for the Undying Lands.  
  
It was, however, the first time someone came from the Undying Lands.  
  
Her patrol leader pointed his spear at the elf and Melui strung her bow, though she did not yet string an arrow. That didn’t really matter. She had been drilled for years on the fast draw that it was burned in her body.  
  
Their target was beautiful though, and she really meant that. She wasn’t like the rest of her kind that pronounced such things without reservation. He had lovely golden hair, really like liquid gold. His eyes looked like they contained starlight.  
  
“I do not mean to be a bother,” he told them, voice soft. “I am Glorfindel of the former house of Gondolin.”  
  
Melui gasped along with the rest of her squad. She had grown up on tales on the glory of Gondolin, and of how hard it fell. This elf, if it really was him, was the sort that belonged on legends. The sort that belonged in the company of her friend, Harry.  
  
That was alright though. Hermione was used to being in the company of heroes.  
  
They escorted him to the king and her curiosity ate her.  
  
(x)  
  
He trained often in the training courts and it annoyed Melui. The Hermione part of her pointed out that people used the library often too, and it was of no consequence to share. The more logical side of her retorted about the library being quiet and well separated by bookshelves.  
  
With a sigh, since he was practicing with his sword, she took up her bow and settled on the practice targets.  
  
Even with the small meter that separated the space set aside for both practices, the annoying elf still treated her practice like it was a show. He stopped and rested his sword on the wall and admired her form.  
  
“Is something entertaining you, my lord?” she asked.  
  
He appeared startled. “No,” he said, sounding slightly amused. “But you draw very well, my lady.”  
  
“Thank you,” she said. She let loose three successive arrows, all of them in hitting the target dead center. “You are very kind.”  
  
He chuckled and backed away, hands going back to his sword. Melui smirked.  
  
(x)  
  
“You sing very well, my lady,” he murmured.  
  
“Thank you,” she replies, not even looking at him.  
  
Her father, watching this, choked on his glass of wine. Later, he confronted her about it.  
  
“Melui,” he started. “What have you been doing to that poor elf?”  
  
She laughed wickedly. “He’s very annoying, father. He’s always around whenever I’m in the training courts. But he doesn’t do well to being ignored.”  
  
With another sigh, her father looked up and murmured, “This won’t end well.”  
  
Her mother laughed with her. “So you’re teasing him!” she exclaimed.  
  
Her father started to grin. “The poor, poor elf,” he reiterated.  
  
(x)  
  
After a fortnight, Melui found a flower in between her books.  
  
The librarian winked at her when she looked at him inquiringly and shrugged.  
  
She was touched by the gesture and tucked the flower behind an ear, continuing her studies into the history of men and dwarves.  
  
This continued until she found the culprit to be a golden-haired hero, guiltily tucking a lily between the pages of her favorite book.  
  
“So it is you,” she remarked.  
  
He laughed quietly, an easy smile on his face. “Do you mind?” he asked.  
  
Despite herself, a smile rose up her lips. “No, I don’t,” she muttered.  
  
His answering smile was as bright as the moonlight.  
  
She went easier on him…a little. He deserved it because those flowers really were lovely. She’d never seen such bright colors and she wondered where he found them.  
  
When she went on a patrol, she found her horse already brushed and a rose cleverly wound on the leather straps of her saddlebags. Her squad mates chuckled and her captain looked longsuffering. She realized Glorfindel must have pestered her captain on telling him when her schedule was. The poor fellow.  
  
“Sorry, sir,” she told him sheepishly. “I suppose he must have made a nuisance of himself.”  
  
Her captain looked amused for a moment, looking at her disbelievingly. “Only you, Melui, can look at that legend and call him a nuisance.”  
  
They laughed again, even as they headed out.  
  
She shook her head. “If I don’t treat him practically, he’ll get insufferable.”  
  
In that, they understood. Melui’s practicality was fast becoming legendary on its own.  
  
(x)  
  
Somehow, long walks became part of her routine before she could even think about it too much. He’d just asked her after dinner for a walk among the gardens and she’d agreed before her mouth consulted her brain.  
  
Her parents smirked when she came back flushed and wearing a crown of woven flowers. “So you finally decided to put that poor elf out of his misery?” her father asked.  
  
“I heard him moping in the kitchens,” her mother added. “It was adorable. The cook gave him cookies.”  
  
Melui blushed and refused to answer, barely refraining from stomping back to her rooms. Her parents laughed behind her back.  
  
(x)  
  
Laughter seemed to be a difficult thing to recall, once her king announced an alliance with the King of Gondor, to battle the evil of Sauron.  
  
Glorfindel sought her out, on the eve of the departure, to press chaste kisses on her hands.  
  
“My lady,” he whispered in her ear. “Hear me out. I know you do not wish to retire from fighting, but if you die, I do not think I can bear it.”  
  
The elves, and their damnable inability to live without their partner. The Hermione part of her had screeched after she’d learned of it. The more elvish part of her – and it was getting stronger and stronger since memory faded – pointed out how painful it would be, to live without a reason.  
  
“Do you not have faith, Lord Glorfindel?” she asked him. “If I were to think about this practically, I would worry more for you, with your post next to the king. I am with the archers.”  
  
He didn’t patronize her, thankfully. “No,” he whispered. “But archers eventually run out of arrows.”  
  
Very annoyed with his fear and his annoying need to look at her like she would vanish, she grabbed his long golden hair and brought him down for a fierce kiss. He froze for a moment, before he wound his arms around her and responded.  
  
“Do not doubt me,” she whispered in his ears. “And I will not doubt you. We will see each other in this world.”  
  
In front of his frozen figure - and yes, she did just propose to him - she unwound the blue ribbon that bound her waterfall of dark hair and tied it around his wrist.  
  
“A promise,” he breathed.  
  
She nodded.  
  
He wrapped her in his arms and he trembled.  
  
(x)  
  
She did not want to recall that war. The Battle of the Last Alliance, the people were calling it.  
  
She wanted no part of it. Had not wanted a part of it. Was this the reason why her father had tried to prevent her from learning the sword?  
  
But no, she learned tand she dealt with the consequences.  
  
Glorfindel was a comfort. Elves might not need to sleep and could go on days without eating, but she had trouble dealing with everything she saw. Glorfindel held her hand and his simple presence was enough to make her unknot.  
  
The aftermath, with the death of King Gil-galad, was tragic. The mourning song rang out of the halls and it inspired weeping. Every time she thought she had her grief handled, she would hear the damn music and she’d cry.  
  
It was a different grief. She knew grief, as Hermione. She mourned her dead friends and her dead headmaster. Being an elf, she felt grief differently. It was somehow stronger, more acute. She felt it more deeply, more keenly.  
  
She didn’t even serve under the king directly, more often serving under her captain. She was so far from his command chain that it wasn’t even funny.  
  
But she knew he was kind. He was soft-spoken and very smart. And Glorfindel had loved him too.  
  
“It will pass,” her mother told her, face closed off and remote. “We will weather it and it will become an old grief. And it will pass.”  
  
She hoped so. She really, really hoped so.  
  
(x)  
  
They moved out of Linden, under the leadership of Lord Elrond.  
  
A lot of them opted to stay, but many more wanted to go. Glorfindel didn’t even need a moment to think, immediately agreeing.  
  
Melui was torn between her parents and Glorfindel. Her mother practically pushed her out of the house.  
  
“You only find a love like that,” she whispered fiercely, shoving her bags at her. “Once in three centuries. Do not waste it, Meluineth.”  
  
She agreed and wryly told the steward she was going as well. It annoyed her that they apparently had her name down since Glorfindel agreed. She didn’t like to be so predictable.  
  
He squeezed her hand. “Thank you,” he said. “It will be fine, you see.”  
  
She smiled back, and on his hand glinted a blue ribbon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked for Melui meeting baby Aragorn.

It was an Age of Peace, apparently.

Melui didn’t care either way, because it was rather a relief to have no wars, to have border patrol only deal with the occasional rabid bear and some bandits, not goblins.

Glorfindel didn’t even attempt to stop her when she signed up to be part of the patrol in Imladris, only sighing a little, fingering the blue ribbon on her hair and kissing her chastely. (Blue had also become her house color. It was the bright blue of the summer sky, not the deep blue that the dwarves loved.)

Elrond and Glorfindel became good friends and in extension, Melui, which was strange. Even if her father was a scholar and her mother was a warrior, she wasn’t a lady. Hermione’s memories told her to hold her head high because everyone was born equal. Melui wanted to smack her other self’s memories silent.

Being an elf wasn’t just about being ethereal and immortal, it was about being sensitive. And the roiling power of the Eldar contained in Lord Elrond was powerful enough that it made her shiver if he got angry.

She even wondered how she got used to Glorfindel’s brilliantly shining presence. It wasn’t unnervingly powerful, like Elrond’s, but a comforting presence. She got slowly got used to it though and became good friends with the Lord of Imladris. (Because rumors of her practicality had spread and Elrond liked people with sense.)

It was still strange to be in the patrol to discover Gilraen the Fair fleeing from Trolls and holding a baby.

Even in the dark of the night, she could tell something innocent was being hunted and directed her squad to it.

The fight was brief but bloody. Trolls may have been stupid, but they were strong and could move fast when pushed.

Melui leapt from her horse and – in a very Harry move – stood on the shoulders of one troll and encouraged both of them to hit each other with insults.

Her squad moved in to protect the mother and child, most of them shaking their heads at what she was doing.

Melui blamed Harry. She really did.

Glorfindel somehow heard about it and _ranted_. Oh, the elf could rant. He shook her and patted her shoulders, eyes roving about her in worry.

Melui rolled her eyes and kissed him quiet.

(x)

They did settle down.

Gilraen was sequestered with Lord Elrond and Glorfindel for about a day and Melui waited outside the door curiously, because her beloved had told her to wait.

When they finally did come out, foreheads were crinkled in worry and eyes were dark with memories. The only one happy among them was the toddler, and he didn’t count.

“My lord?” she asked.

Both men blinked at her and smiled, though Elrond’s was more of a smirk. “I heard of your foolhardy venture on top of a Troll’s head.”

Melui blushed while Glorfindel scowled at the Lord.

“Melui,” Glorfindel said, avoiding the topic with admirable restraint. Melui loved this man. “This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. The last of the line of Isildur.”

What?

“I-what,” Melui managed. She looked at the sleeping toddler. “Really?”

“He needs a new name,” Elrond continued. “So that the allies of the Sauron do not find him.”

The name was out of her mouth before she could stop it. “Estel,” she said. “Because he is one.”

They nodded. Gliraen looked relieved. “Thank you, my lady. He does not need to know of his burden until he reaches twenty.”

Melui agreed, though the Hermione-ish part of her screeched about careful upbringing and an enjoyable childhood. Because those years were important.

She did not doubt that the baby would grow up wise, because even among elves, Lord Elrond was particularly wise.

And Aragorn opened his gray eyes, hazy with sleep, and smiled at her.

Melui felt her heart clench.

“Oh,” she gasped. Glorfindel reached for her hand and squeezed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panicking Glorfindel along with some Ringwraiths.

Glorfindel feels like pulling his hair.

“She’s… _where?_ With _my horse?_ ” he says softly, trying to make his voice calm and not at all panicked.

“Lord Elrond found her first, my lord,” the stable hand answers, sounding remarkably unruffled by the whole thing.

“Ringwraiths!” he mutters, storming out and feeling a very strong urge to hurt something. “My lovely wife against Ringwraiths.”

Elrond catches him just as he is starting to build up the energy to pace. His old friend’s face is apologetic.

“Gandalf’s message was urgent,” he explains. “And we couldn’t find where you were.”

Glorfindel was out picking flowers, not that he would tell his friend that. Even with the centuries that had passed, Melui still loved flowers. Finding new ones to surprise her with is part of his hobbies.

The calming hand on his shoulder helps. While it had been some time since Melui had joined a patrol, she still was and is a formidable warrior. That still didn’t stop him from worrying.

“She will be fine,” Elrond says calmly. “And if she finds Estel, then he can watch over her as well.”

It isn’t enough, but he stops pacing. He is still agitated and restless though and likely throwing around his aura, as evidenced by the absence of people around him.

Asfaloth shows up a few days later, barely tired but chased by a bunch of Ringwraiths. That Melui is not on his back makes him show his wrath, thinking the worst. That makes all of them flee in terror.

The moan from the saddle has him summoning Elrond and whistling for his horse sharply. It is not Melui but a halfling, delirious and on the verge of death. Of merging with the shadow, if Glorfindel is reading his aura right.

Everything from that point on is a blur of activity as they try to keep the halfling alive. Gandalf shows up at one point and Glorfindel wastes two seconds debating whether it would be worth it to punch the Istari in the face. He decides against it and makes a note to lament the fact to his wife, when she showed up.

Still, to wake up to her lovely smile after a few nights of loneliness is lovely. Her eyebrows are scrunched up as she listens to him sigh and bemoan the difficulty of punching Istari’s.

“You ridiculous, dramatic elf,” she sighs. “I was fine. They hardly wanted me. They were after Frodo and his package.”

Even after centuries, she’s still as practical as ever. He loves that about her. Unchanging and such a pillar of support.

“They could waited for me,” he pouts.

She laughs and proceeds to make fun of him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also available at [tumblr](http://ladyhallen.tumblr.com) for any worldbuilding questions and prompts.


End file.
